Stripes and Belts
by MaddoxTheInvincible
Summary: Craig has a thing for belts. Tweek has a thing for stripes. Craig is freakishly tall and never shows emotion. Tweek is average and shows too much emotion. So how the hell could they ever cross paths? Creek slash fic. Rated T because, come on, it's Craig Tucker.
1. Chapter 1 - The Dentist

**This Creek story has been bouncing around in my head, so I gave in and wrote the first chapter. Now, I'm going to stress something, here-my other story, Francium, isn't finished yet. I need to finish that before I can go out with this much. I might still write some of this on occasion, but I'm going to try to get Francium finished, first. I do have an ending for that in mind, which is good. So, without further ado, here you are. The first chapter of Stripes and Belts.**

It doesn't faze me when I hear a loud shriek come from the room next to my own.

The lady next to me is examining my mouth with one of those pointy things that dentists use. The scrape of metal against my teeth makes me shiver. I guess the kid next to me felt the same way.

"So how have you been, Craig?"

I don't even bother to answer. How can I when she had the fucking metal crap in my mouth? Instead, I just give the lady a glare, showing her how much I am enjoying this.

"Same as always, huh?" she mutters under her breath, moving her chair to get another medieval torture device used to ruin people's day. "Rinse out your mouth."

I comply, spitting out water and noticing the red that went down the drain with it. Great, my mouth was bleeding. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I flip off the lady for the third time in an hour and lay back down in the chair, opening my mouth again expectantly. Just get it over with, get it over with.

I feel a sharp pain in my cheek as she puts in the Novocain. I hate that shit. Having my teeth hurt like hell is better that feeling dead in one side of your face.

She takes out the drill.

Could this day get any fucking worse?

As she works like a mofo on my teeth, I can feel her breath on my face. That, paired with the extremely gross smell of the drill is enough to make me wince. I need to get this over with. Get it done. Clyde is waiting for me.

"SWEET JESUS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

The shout makes the lady jolt, and the drill goes from my molar to the inside of my cheek.

Now would be a great time for the Novocain to kick in, right?

No, of course not. The fucking numbing shit hasn't even begun to spread over my face. So, of course, with my fucking luck, the drill goes straight into my cheek.

Okay, I tried. I really did. I did my absolute best not to just get the fuck out of the dentist's office. But sometimes you don't reach your goals, which is perfectly acceptable.

So I smack the lady's hand away, stand up, rip the fucking cloth she put around my neck off, shoot her a beautiful view of my middle finger, and walk out.

At the same time, the boy in the room next to me runs past me in a hurry. I vaguely remember passing him in the halls and sharing a class with him. His name was Twitch, or something similar. The guy is a total freak. He's a full-blown coffee addict and twitched so much he practically vibrated everywhere he went. If anyone so much as said hello to him, he'd flip out and scream something about the government. He hangs out with Jimmy and Kevin and never so much as thought about introducing himself to everyone else. On top of that, he always wears some assortment of stripes, no matter where he goes. Sometimes you had to really look to find them—I remember once it took me about twenty minutes to realize he was wearing a striped cloth on his finger to school. Today, it was a green shirt with a black and grey striped one underneath. It looks okay, even though he never buttons that green shirt correctly. I had my wardrobe quirks, too. What, might you ask? Well, in South Park, I, Craig Tucker, am known for three things—the kid that flips people off, the kid that's so tall he has to duck his head down if he's going through a normal sized doorway, and the kid that had about eighty belts. Yep, belts. I love them. I always wear a belt, no matter what outfit I'm wearing. So I can't really blame Tweek for wearing stripes all the time.

Yep, that kid is pretty nuts. But it never really bothers me. Sometimes I feel bad for the way people treat him, but I never really do anything about it. One must fight their own battles, right?

His shoulder bumps against mine as he ran off. He lets out a "gah!" and a "sorry!" before storming out the door. I don't really care. People bump into me all the time because of my height. I've grown accustomed to it, even though it's probably one of the most annoying fucking things in the world. I usually flip people off casually if they slam themselves into me, but Blondie runs away so fast that there's no point.

So I just follow him out. The stare the office lady is giving me is making me want to piss myself.

Once I'm out of that hellhole, I look around for the kid in the striped shirt. But he's not anywhere. Damn, that guy can run fast.

"Fuck." I say under my breath. That Novocain is kicking in now, and so is the aching in my teeth. I whip out my phone and text Clyde. As I'm writing that I'm going to be at his house in five minutes, I remember how much he likes to rip on me for not having a smartphone. It's not like my parents aren't rich enough to get me a super-duper fucking sci-fi phone that can do absolutely anything. I just hate those things. Yep, you heard me right. The extra shit on them cancels out the fact that they're supposed to be a phone. A phone is for calling people. With all that extra shit, it's less about it being an actual phone and more about it being a video game or whatever.

I'm ranting.

The point is, that those phones suck.

Which is why I have a plain old LG with nothing special. No touch screen, just a flip-out keyboard and a number pad. That's it.

When I get to Clyde's house, he opens the door before I even knock and pulls me into a bear hug. It's awkward because he's about a foot shorter than I am.

"Hey, Craig!" he says, pulling away.

"Hey." I say back, looking down at him with my usual blank face. People always say I never show any emotion—my mom even suggested therapy- but I don't mean to, really. I'm just not one for feelings, I guess.

"Your voice sounds weird." Clyde points out, reaching up to poke my face. I wince. His finger touches the spot where the drill went into my cheek.

"Watch it, the bitch dentist lady put the fucking drill into my cheek." I warn him. He takes his hand away immediately.

"Why?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Some kid from our school screamed in the other room."

"Who?"

"It was that..uh..the coffee guy. What was his name...?" I wander off with my words, snapping my fingers to try to remember the stripe kid's name.

"It's something with a T...oh yeah! Tweek!" Clyde finally remembers.

"Yeah, him." I nod.

"He was screaming?"

"Yeah. He ran out of there. I wouldn't blame him. I ditched, too."

"Ha." Clyde grins. "I wish I could've been there."

"Yeah." I say. "Now, are we gonna play video games or what?"

He nods and runs to the kitchen. "I'll get food."

I roll my eyes and plop down on Clyde's couch. Clyde isn't exactly the thinnest kid around. He's kind of pudgy, but definitely not fat. Half of his bulk is from muscle, the other from all the shit he eats. I've always managed to stay thin, thanks to my freakish growth spurt I got in seventh grade. Clyde and Token always ripped on me for being tall—I pretty much tower over every kid in the grade. But I, in return, rip on Clyde for being a pussy and chubby and Token for being rich and black, which maintains our perfectly balanced friendship.

"Hey, who else is coming over?" I call over to Clyde, who is filling a huge bowl with Cheesy Poofs.

"Token and Damien." he replies.

Damien, the son of Satan, had filled in the void for our fourth friend. Over the years that the three of us had been friends, there was always someone that would come in and out of our group. Sometimes Jimmy, sometimes Jason, hell, even Tweek. But once, we tried with Damien, and we fit together pretty well. Clyde, Token and I don't consider him one of our tight-knit group, but he's fun to hang out with nonetheless. Damien has a pretty cool sense of humor. He's also almost as tall as I am—I have a few inches on him—which helps me not get singled out as much.

"Cool." I say, turning on the TV lazily. Flipping through the channels, I settle for an episode of Soul Eater. It's at a commercial. A coffee commercial.

"_Tweak Bros. coffee is the best way to wake up in the morning. Our fresh beans taste like dewdrops on a green leaf in the spring..."_

The commercial drones on and on, until I can't stand it anymore and flip to another channel.

"Craig, get the door." Clyde says. I'm so pissed off at the commercial that I don't hear the doorbell ring. Immediately, I know it's Token. No one ever rings Clyde's doorbell but him.

"Token, come in, I'm too lazy to open the door!" I shout. Token hears me and walks right in.

"Hey, you guys. What're we playing?"

"Call of Duty." Clyde answers, putting our feast on a tray, carrying it in.

I grin when I see a small orb of light come from behind him.

The small, circular thing stretches until it's in the shape of a human. Then, there's Damien, lurking behind Clyde. He leans over and whispers in my best friend's ear.

"Boo."

Clyde drops the tray. Soda and Cheesy Poofs go everywhere.

"What the hell did you do that for, Damien?" Token scolds. Ah, Token. Always the voice of reason. "Now Clyde has to pick it all up."

Damien laughs. "That's what I was aiming for." he sits down next to me on the couch and gives me a high-five. I would laugh, but nothing really rises in my throat, compelling me to laugh. Stupid nonexistent emotions.

"Dude! Stop laughing!" Clyde says, hi voice catching. Oh, shit. He was going to have another meltdown. Token rolls his eyes and gets some paper towels to clean up the mess.

Clyde is now on the floor, bawling like a baby. This is exactly how it went, everytime the four of us hung out—Clyde would start bawling because of some prank Damien played on him, Token would be God and clean everything up, and Damien would be laughing his ass off. As for me, well, I'd just sit there and watch.

When everything is (relatively) cleaned up, the four of us sit down to play. Cylde grabs his favorite controller, still sobbing, Token digs around in his bag for his own—it was some rare, limited-edition thing or another—Damien gets a normal controller, and I got the one that was missing one of the buttons.

As usual.

Everything happens as usual.

Damien wins the first round. Damien wins the second round. The creepy red-eyed kid wins every single fucking game.

"Killing people is fun." is his only explanation.

Just. Like. Always.

"C'mon, Craig. Don't be a sore loser." Damien smirks at me.

I clench my teeth, forgetting about the sharp pain that occurs when I do.

"Is something wrong?" Token asks.

"Yeah, Craig. For this whole game, you've been acting like a pole's been shoved up your ass." Clyde points out matter-of-factly.

"No, actually." I mutter. "A dentist's drill shoved itself into my face."

Token gives me a concerned look. Clyde winces. Damien laughs.

Just. Like. Always.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm going home." I say, slamming my controller down onto the table. With a flourish of my middle finger, I get through the door.

Which, of course, I have to lean down to get through.

JUST. LIKE. ALWAYS.


	2. Chapter 2 - Damien's Tricks

**Probably one of the longest chapters I've ever written. Yay!**

I wake up reluctantly. I really don't want to go to school today, especially after I walked out on Clyde, Token, and Damien. They're going to ask all these useless questions. I never care enough to answer them, they know that.

I drag myself out of bed and pull on some black shirt and a pair of dark jeans. Opening my closet, I look proudly at the belts that hang from the walls. There are so many, I've lost count. They're all brightly colored, while my clothes are dull and dark. My belts are my pride and joy, along with Stripe, my guinea pig. After hesitating for a minute, I grab the belt with the metallic blue studs and thread it through the loops effortlessly. It's like a reflex. I don't even have to think to put on a belt—or undo one.

After putting on my clothes, I pull my headphones over my ears and put on The Final Countdown by Europe. If that song can make anything sound epic, I bet it'll lighten my mood.

Once I get to school, there they are. Oh, joy.

"Hey, Craig! Why the fuck did you leave us yesterday?" Clyde asks, wrapping me in a bear hug. I stand there stiffly, waiting for him to pull away. Just to annoy me, he pulls me tighter. I feel my lungs get squished by his iron grip.

"Let...go. I can't...breathe." I choke out.

Clyde looks up at me mischievously. "Not until you say you love me."

I flip him off. He squeezes tighter. Any more, and my organs will probably seep out of my mouth.

"OKAY, OKAY! I love you." I grumble. "Whatever, just...let me go. I'm dying, here."

He obeys.

"So, to the point. Why did you leave us?" Token crosses his arms.

"I was sick of doing the same thing all the time." I state bluntly. I'm not one to lie. What's the point in lying when you can say what's on your mind? My brutal honesty has definitely gotten me into trouble, but I couldn't care less.

"What do you mean?" Clyde asks.

"We always go to Clyde or Token's house. We always play video games and eat crap food. Clyde always cries because Damien played some smartass trick on him. Token's always the peacemaker, and I'm always the one that does nothing." I explain. "I just want to do something for once. Something...different."

"Yeah, I get what you're saying." Token nods.

"Hey, where's Damien?" I ask suddenly. It did seem a bit more peaceful without him around.

"Had to help his dad kill off some people, or something." Clyde waves away my question.

"Oh. What did your mom say about the—"

"AAAAAAHHH!"

Before Token can finish his sentence, a really loud, shrill scream comes from the other hallway around the corner. After glancing at each other, the three of us walk over to see what's going on.

There, right in front of me, a familiar blond kid is being held up by his shirt against a locker. The person holding him is Eric Cartman, one of those people that make you question your belief in the success of humanity.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT CHEESY POOFS?!" He screams at the guy I saw at the dentist yesterday. Sweet Jesus. This guy gets so fucking pissed at every little thing.

The blond—Tweek—is shaking, a lot more violently than his usual slight vibration. The fear that's bouncing around in his eyes is a lot more intense than usual.

No, that's not gay. I can read people well, okay?

"I-I didn't say anything." Tweek squeaks.

"YES, YOU DID! YOU SAID SOMETHING ABOUT CHEESY POOFS TO STOLEY, DIDN'T YOU?!"

Kevin Stoley bolts like lightning, eager to get the fuck out of there. I don't really blame him for that, honestly.

"N-No! GAH!" Tweek chokes out. Eric raises his fist, aiming to get Tweek right in the face.

Something goes off in my head. Tweek looks so vulnerable right now. He's looking up at Cartman like a kicked puppy.

So, in the split second that it takes for Cartman's fist to come down to Tweek's face, I somehow develop superpowers and race from my place at the front of the hallway to the lockers that they're standing at.

Cartman looks puzzled when his punch doesn't go through. He then realized that I'm holding his fist.

"Craig?" Cartman asks in a small voice. He's always been intimidated by me. I wouldn't blame him—he's about as fat as I am tall.

"Don't fucking do it again, asshole." I growl, trying to look menacing. Though I've never punched anyone before, I wasn't going to stop myself if it had to come to that.

Cartman just glares at me and stalks off to torture someone else.

Tweek just stares at me, scared out of his mind.

"Wow...I—"

"You're welcome." I finish for him. Poor guy can't even make a sentence. I glance over at Clyde and Token, who have vanished. And they say that I ditch them all the time.

"Hey, you're C-Craig. I saw you at the d-dentist yesterday." he says.

"Yep." I nod. It's kind of awkward talking to him. Tweek's tall, but I'm taller.

"So..why'd you—ngh!- help me?"

The question makes me stop for a minute. Why did I help Tweek, anyway? I never really did that for anyone else. There wasn't anything special about Tweek—other than the fact that he was a twitchy, coffee-addicted spaz that wore stripes all the time.

"I don't know." I say.

"I hate not knowing stuff. GAH! It's like the government has wiped my brain or something! I can't think! OH, GOD! WHAT IF THE GOVERNMENT IS BRAINWASHING US AND—" he stops himself, taking a deep breath.

I've just decided that I like this kid. All his quirks fascinate me.

"You're interesting." I state. His reaction makes me laugh. His hands go to his hair and his eyes widen in a deer-in-headlights way.

"GAH! What's that supposed to mean?! AH!"

"Calm down." I say bluntly, looking him in the eye. Apparently, when I look people in the eyes, they do as I say. Clyde told me he swore my eyes were hypnotic or something.

Sure enough, it works.

"I've got to get to class." I say, starting off towards my locker.

"Hey, Craig!" Tweek says. I turn.

"I-I like your belt." he says, a small, shy smile on his face.

XxX

After the Cartman incident, I decide to pay more attention to Tweek. We're not friends, but he smiles at me when we pass each other in the halls, and I talk to him on occasion. Just acquaintances. If anyone ever gives him crap, I'm here to stop them. After I threw off Cartman, though, most of them backed off.

"Dude, Tweek's cool." Clyde says in the locker rooms as he changes out of his gym clothes. "Invite him and his friends to sit over with us!"

I shrug. Doesn't sound like a sin to me.

I find Tweek later in the line for coffee. I don't really know how to approach him without freaking him out, so I just tap him on the shoulder.

"AHH!"

Fuck. At least he doesn't have his coffee yet, or else it would go all over my face.

"Oh. H-Hey, Craig."

"Hey. Me and Clyde and Token were wondering if you and Kevin wanted to sit with us." I tell him, my voice its normal monotone.

"S-Sure." he says, smiling. I return it.

"Sounds good." I say before getting some pasta from the other line.

"Tweek and Kevin are sitting with us." I tell Damien , who got back from his trip with his father in the middle of class.

"Why?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Because they're nice, and Clyde wanted them to sit here." I tell him flatly.

He nods and returns to his lunch. I don't even want to know what demons eat, so I look away, but I can't help but smell something bad.

"H-Hey, guys." Tweek says, sitting down across from me. "AH! HOLY TAPDANCING JESUS! WHAT'S THAT SMELL?"

I grin. "Damien, any ideas?"

He looks up from his lunch, his mouth full. "Huh?"

Kevin looks intrigued. "What is it?"

Damien glances down at his food. "My dad's casserole."

"Cool!" Kevin exclaims, craning his neck to get a better look. "What's in it?"

Damien smirks. "Do you really want to know?"

At that, Tweek twitches, and covers Kevin's mouth with his hand.

"N-no, he doesn't." he says shakily. I can tell he's creeped out by Damien. I wouldn't blame him, the guy is a wackjob.

Clyde sits down, his tray full of food. He starts inhaling it, but stops when he sees Tweek, looking, petrified, at Damien's lunch.

"It's chicken." he says, before returning to his tray to wolf down more food. I roll my eyes as Damien whines.

"Aww! I wanted to lie and say it was rotting flesh or something, dude! To freak him and his friend out a little!"

Finally, Token reaches our table, too.

I give Damien a punch in the arm. The guy has no muscle, so by the way he winces I know it hurt more than it should've.

"Shut up, Damien. You suck."

Once again, blunt honesty. I cannot lie!

"Fuck you, Tucker." he spits back before grinning. I know that grin. He's gonna pull something.

"Hey, Tweek." he says, leaning in closer to him and speaking quietly. I keep my guard up. "Do you want to see something cool?"

Tweek shakes his head, but Damien does it anyway. He flicks a finger towards Tweek and, before anyone could do anything, his hair was on fire.

"Damien, what the fuck? That joke's not funny, dude." Clyde says, punching his other arm.

Meanwhile, Tweek was screaming his ass off, and people were laughing, knowing that this was one of Damien's classic pranks.

The flame was a harmless one, one that couldn't do any damage. Sure, Damien could summon real flames, too, but he never did. Everyone in our group had had this joke played on them. Including me. Trust me, it wasn't funny. At all.

I bolt up again and grab Tweek's arm, looking over at the sobbing, screaming mess that is his face. By now, Damien has toppled over in laughter, but when he hears the sound of sobs he sits up and a look of guilt crosses his face.

"Tweek. Tweek!" I try to catch his attention, but he's flailing and trying to get out of my grip.

"Tweek, the fire's not real."

He stops and looks over at me, his eyes desperate in fear. I shoot Damien a warning look. He gets the message and puts out the fire on Tweek's head.

Then Tweek starts shaking again. When I look over, he's not crying. His eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are balled up into fists.

Damien's going to be in for it this time.

Tweek launches himself over the table at Damien, pinning him down on the floor and punching him multiple times in the face. I feel my heart go into my throat. Damien's my friend, but he knows that Tweek's vulnerable. He shouldn't have done it, even if it was a tradition of some sort.

Tweek is getting to as much as Damien as he can, clawing and scratching and punching and kicking. Clyde runs over and tries to stop him from totally annihilating Damien.

When he reluctantly pulls away, I kneel down to examine Damien, and Token comes with me. Being the two more responsible in our group, it's up to us to mak sure the other two don't get killed.

Damien came pretty damn close.

His eye is purple, he's bleeding at the mouth, and his cheeks are turning a weird greenish color.

But he's smiling.

As he pulls himself up, he gives Tweek a warm, friendly look.

"Damn, kid!" he says, obviously impressed. "You can fight! Whenever I do that to anyone else, they just wimp out and run away. But you...you totally kicked my ass! How'd you learn how to do that?"

Tweek's face turns from angry and animalistic to shy. "I box."

Clyde, who is still holding Tweek, changes his hold to a firm grip to a big bear hug.

"You. Are. So. Awesome." he says, his voice muffled.

Tweek squeaks from the big hug and Clyde lets him go. He gasps for air and sits back down at the cafeteria table, like nothing happened.

"You deserve it, you know." Token says, in his usual matter-of-fact voice, looking over at Damien. He's holding his eye and wincing. "That joke isn't funny."

"It is for me." he says.

"Sadist." Token grumbles as he sinks his perfect teeth into his homemade sandwich. It's probably gourmet or something.

"I'd say he's a masochist." I say, laughing. "He smiled when Tweek beat the shit out of him."

Tweek blushes. And I can't lie, it makes me feel happy, too.

**I love Damien xD But it was NOT cool to scare Tweek! Just saying.**

**But yeah, if you enjoy this chapter, tell me so. I lovelovelovelove getting reviews! It makes my day, I swear. Whenever Isee that email on my phone I fangirl in happiness. :D**


	3. Chapter 3 - Apples and Caramel

**Another chapter! Yay! Nothing to say, really. Just a quick warning. It's kinda fluffy. ITS NOT POINTLESS, THOUGH! IT'S EXTREMELY IMPORTANT TO THE STORY!**

**Okay, I'll leave you at that.**

I can feel myself tossing and turning subconsciously. I'm really in bed, sleeping deeply.

But my conscience thinks otherwise. Right now, all I see is nothing but a soft pink light that's glowing far away from me.

It swells and grows closer and closer until I get sucked into it. I'm falling, down, down, down, until I land on something soft and light.

The air has a hazy quality that dreams tend to have in movies. I'm trying hard to wake myself up. Come on, Craig! Wake the fuck up!

No such luck.

It happens again. My arms are moving away from my sides against my will, wrapping themselves around the mysterious mass that's to my right.

And the corners of my mouth become a smile. A soft, sweet smile. I think I'm going to be sick. But, obviously, I can't, because, you know, I'm asleep.

The mass moves, until it has fully turned, facing me. No, not again.

Their thin body is smashing against my own, and their forehead is touching mine. Everything about it is perfect. Too perfect. Except for one thing.

The air is so thick that the face of my imaginary lover is concealed.

Their smell is without a doubt intoxicating—apples, caramel, and just general sweetness—it all makes me want to gag. I have to wake up. I need to wake up before—

I feel the sweetness tickle my bottom lip.

Fuck.

It's another kiss.

And then they're all over me, grabbing my face and kissing my jaw and running their fingers through my hair. It feels so great, I won't lie.

Wake up, wake up! They're not real, they don't exist. You'll never know who they are—or what they are.

"CRAIG! WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

I jolt up in a cold sweat.

There, hovering over my pillow, is my little sister, Ruby.

"It's time for school, asswipe." she says before leaving, flipping me off. I return the gesture and get out of bed eagerly. I have never been so happy to get out of a dream in my life. Lately, I've been having the same one over and over. I randomly end up on someone's bed and they start kissing me or something, but their face never shows. I can never know who the person is. I'm pretty sure it's some girl.

Reason One. Girls always smell like apples, right? With all their lotions and shit, and the scented eyeliner and crap. What is it with girls and smelly stuff? They probably need to cover up the stink and ugliness hiding underneath.

Reason Two. I'm not gay.

Aren't I? Sure, girls suck, but that doesn't necessarily mean...

I'll get back to that.

Reason Three. Whoever it is, they have blond hair. Sure, I never see their face, but sometimes the smoke clears enough so I can see a few tufts of their hair. Girls have long hair, mostly. The only boy with long-ish hair I know is...

Nah, that's not it.

I realize that I've gotten dressed while I'm thinking.

Black button-up shirt, black pants, and a rainbow-studded belt.

God, I have to trust my force of habit more.

xXx

"Dude, are you okay?" Clyde cocks an eyebrow at me when I walk up to them.

"Yeah, you look pretty sick." Token adds.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I assure them, flipping them off in greeting. They just roll their eyes in response.

"Damien. DAMIEN!" Token shouts at said boy. I find Damien practically drooling over a fight between Cartman and Kyle.

"Mmm?" Is his only response. The sadistic bastard.

"Dude, put your boner away, we've gotta get to class." Clyde says, dragging Damien away. He struggles in protest, but Clyde's too muscular. The guy could hold back a steamroller if he needed to.

"Twisted fucker." he mutters under his breath as he drags Damien into the building.

"Let go of me, or I'll light you ass on fire." Damien growls. I can't help but laugh.

"H-hey, Craig."

I turn around to see Tweek, smiling shyly, clutching his books to his chest like it was something his life depended on. He looks so vulnerable, so exposed. I feel like it is my duty, as his friend, to keep him out of harm's way.

A perfectly friendly thing to do.

"A-Are you okay?" he asks tentatively.

"Fine." I say, so sharply that Tweek drops his books on the ground. He kneels down to pick them up, and I do so, too, ignoring the groans my back makes when I lean over. I reach my hand over to pick up the heaviest one—the dreaded History book.

Apparently, he was aiming for that, too, because his hand, for a split second, lands right on top of mine. The only thing that's interrupting the moment is the huge shock that happens between out hands. It makes me snap my hand away. I can feel the heat going to my cheeks.

Shit, shit! What am I doing? I don't blush. I never show any emotion. My face is an empty slate.

So why am I blushing?

Everything is moving in slow motion now, his hands are trembling at his sides and his big eyes are staring directly into mine. God, they're huge. They're a weird color, too—a milky light brown that looks exactly like chocolate. This weird sensation starts to fill my whole body, one that seems really, familiar. A plan suddenly makes its way into my head. I'll give Tweek a smile so that he knows we're cool, and then I'll get the fuck out of here without anyone noticing.

The first part thankfully works.

The second part, to my dismay, doesn't.

"Dude, what just happened?" Clyde asks, his mouth turning into a half-smile that all the girls screamed at. Honestly, I think it makes the guy look like a complete retard.

"Yeah, you guys had a little...moment, there." Token notes. I shrug and keep walking, hoping they'll buy it. I'm guessing they do, because they don't pry.

I'm a better actor than I look.

xXx

At lunch, Tweek and Kevin sit at our table again, and we have silently agreed to act as if the History Book Incident didn't happen, and have a normal conversation about coffee together.

"I drink mine black." I say, my voice way more dull than I intend it to be.

Tweek nods. "You seem like the—the type."

I knit my brow. "The..type?"

He nods again and sips out of his thermos. "I can kind of tell what coffee people drink by their personality."

"Really?" Wow, that's interesting. "What does Clyde like?"

Tweek studies Clyde for a moment. "He likes a frappe with extra whipped cream and caramel sauce, topped with chocolate shavings."

Clyde nods. "It's true!"

"You shouldn't add all that crap to your coffee." Token scolds him. "It takes away from the fact that it's supposed to be coffee, not dessert."

I look over at Tweek expectantly.

"Iced, with two extra shots of espresso to keep him going." he says, almost automatically.

Token's eyes widen. "Wow."

Tweek blushes. Damn, those cheeks of his get pink over the smallest things. I'm jealous.

"Hey, C-Craig. You wanna try my—ngh!—my coffee?"

He hands me his thermos, and I, without hesitation. What I taste almost makes me choke on the beverage, but I swllow anyway.

Apples and caramel.

I'll be damned.

xXx

Damien corners me as the bell rings.

"Hey, Craig." he says nonchalantly. I know somethings up, so I glare at him.

"What do you want?" I say, exasperated.

Damien leads me to an empty Study Hall classroom.

"Look, loverboy. I know what you're up to." he says, smirking.

I frown. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Damien laughs. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

I say "yes" before he can continue. He shoves me before continuing.

"Look, I saw the thing with the books. You might as well have been screaming 'I'm gay for Tweek Tweak' to the whole school." he tells me, his red eyes malicious with the new dirt he had on me.

I respond, as usual, with my blunt honesty.

"Look, I don't like him like...that. I don't think."

"You don't think." his response was more of a statement than a question.

"I don't!" I say. "I mean, he showed up in this dream I had the other night."

Damien raises his eyebrows, signaling for me to continue. I sigh in reluctance. Sharing my feelings and shit has never been one of my favorite pastimes, if you haven't noticed.

"I keep on having this dream, and it involves me and another person. I never really know who the person is, but I thought it was a girl because they smelled good. Until lunch today, when Tweek gave me some of his coffee, and it tasted like apples and caramel, which is what the person smelled like in the dream."

Damien just laughs. Can you believe that asswipe? He just laughs! I went into total bitch-mode, venting out my problems and shit, and all he does is chuckle. The guy drives me up the wall.

"I could see something was up at lunch. You looked like you were gonna puke after you drank that coffee."

All I do is cross my arms.

Damien realizes I'm not going to say anything, so he keeps talking.

"Listen—it was probably just a coincidence. If you honestly don't like Tweek, then the whole thing was just the stars aligning or whatever."

"Deep." I say sarcastically. "Hey, aren't you the son of the Devil? Can't you interpret dreams or perform some fucked-up voodoo shit or something?"

Damien laughs again. "Okay, have it your way. What exactly was going on in your dream?"

I sigh. After this, I'm never going to hear the end of it. "I always start falling and land on this really big, fluffy bed, and then a person appears next to me, and-and they start kissing me and stuff."

Damien nods, like a psychiatrist giving some nutjob an evaluation. "And you never see their face?"

"Never. " I nod. "Sometimes I see their hair—it's blond—but nothing else, really."

Damien claps his hands, jumps up from the desk he's leaning on, and claps me on the back.

"Dude, you're gay for Tweek."

"I am not!" Fuck, I sound like a two-year-old.

"Jesus, Tucker, calm down. I don't really care."

I laugh and try to lighten the mood. "I know you don't. The look on your face when you saw Cartman and Broflovski fighting outside this morning...that was priceless."

"Fuck you." he says, before promptly disappearing off to wherever innocent people needed torturing.

I think about it for a moment, closing my eyes to clear my head.

Do I actually like Tweek...that way? The idea of being with another guy sounds foreign to me. I can't deny it, though. I'm curious. Curious to see what another dude's mouth tastes like. I've kissed a girl once—in fourth grade, when Butters took over the kissing company and I wasted five dollars on a kiss from Sally—it didn't feel that great. I didn't particularly like Sally, but I needed to kiss someone, or Cartman would run my ass up the flagpole, like he did Butters.

But another guy—weird. Not gross, just weird.

Okay, so kissing another guy doesn't sound so bad. Therefore, that makes me...

Bisexual?

Nah. I'm not quite there yet.

So...bicurious?

Yeah, that's about right.

Okay, so I'm bicurious. Not a big deal. Easy to stomach. Now comes the hard part. Do I like this specific boy?

I had a dream about him.

But I have dreams about people all the time. Random people, like our plumber or electrician. But I'm not in love with those guys. Therefore, I can dream about someone and not like them, right?

Right.

So, I can dream about Tweek, and hang out with Tweek, and think Tweek is nice and cool and funny and smart and sweet, but not like him in a romantic way?

Right.

So, this was just a coincidence.

Okay, good. That's settled.

**Bad ending, sorry. I tried to find something witty for Craig to say, but I'm too tired to think properly =_=**

**So, I will leave you with a good pun I made yesterday!**

**(There was a ton of snow yesterday where I live. Fucking New England O.o)**

**I'm not a mofo for shoveling out my doorstep stairs.**

**I'm a SNOW-fo.**

**Clever, eh? ;) **

**I'll try to put a pun in the end of every chapter from now on, just as a thank-you for those who review and read and follow and crap. If you review and want me to dedicate a pun to you, just tell me in your review, and I'll put you in :3**

**Until next time, MADDOXTHEINVINCIBLE CONTINUES TO LIVE ON!**

**...I don't know where that came from -_- I'M TIRED, OKAY?!**


	4. Chapter 4 - Psychology

Chapter 4! Here we go!

Damien keeps on giving me weird looks as I talk to Tweek from across the hall. Can't the guy just let the whole thing from yesterday go? I mean, I already told him I don't like Tweek. What else does he want?

"...A-and that's why the government is going to take away our toilet seats for good! It's all a part of this huge conspiracy!" Tweek finishes. I'm only half-listening to his usual rant.

"Shut up, Tweek. Go to an insane asylum and tell it to the people there." throws some asshole over his shoulder as he walks by.

It's almost like a reflex. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm standing over the guy, backing him into the lockers. I don't even lay a finger on him. Sometimes, being tall has its advantages. You can trick people into thinking you're tough, when you really don't know what you're doing. Like right now. I try my best to straighten my posture to make myself look a few inches taller. There we go, now I look about six-ten.

"Say that again." I say through clenched teeth. "I dare you."

When he doesn't say anything, I let him go, flipping him off when he turns around.

"Fucker." I mutter under my breath.

Tweek is just standing there, a look of both horror and curiosity on his face. It looks almost childish.

"You didn't even touch him, and you scared him." he says softly. I nod, looking down at my shoes. Suddenly, I feel the heat rush to my cheeks again. Damn, the second time since yesterday. Why is this happening? It's only when I'm around him. Which might mean...

Nah, I shake it off.

Just another coincidence.

"No one ever believes me." he says quietly.

"That's not true." I reply as soon as the words leave his mouth. God, where am I coming up with this stuff? I don't really feel like I'm lying, but I don't really feel like I'm in control of my brain. It's like I'm having an out-of-body experiences that are always in books and TV shows, where the person sees themselves lying in a hospital bed.

"Yes, it is!" his voice catches. "I know what I'm saying is complete—complete bullshit. But—but I can't s-stop myself. It—it just...happens. It's like I can't c-control what I say or d-do."

Did he just read my mind, or something?

Okay, okay. I can feel my mind come back to me again. Breathe, Craig, breathe. You're in control now.

"Sometimes I feel that way, too." I say, looking down at him. "I feel like I can't control what comes out of my mouth."

"Like what?"

"My brutal honesty." I say. "Sometimes I wish I could tell a white lie, but I can't bring myself to do it. It doesn't feel...right, you know?"

He nods slowly, and takes a quick swig of his coffee before responding. "I c-can see where that might g-get you into trouble."

I nod, laughing. "You'll bet it does. I can't even remember how many times I've ever been to Mr. Mackey's office in elementary school."

"I remember that, too." he says, laughing with me. It's a small little laugh, like he's afraid if he laughs too much it might disrupt the delicate balance of the universe.

"Sometimes I wish I could show emotions, too." I say, slowly turning to look Tweek in the eye. He doesn't say anything, so I continue.

"Look at my eyes."

Okay, that sounds weird, but I want him to do it.

"Can you see anything?"

Tweek blinks, looking down at his hands for a moment, and then looks back up at me.

"I-I can."

"You can?" I'm actually surprised. Wait.

Surprise? YES! That's an emotion, right? Yes. Small victory! Point for Craig!

"Yeah." he says, concentrating on my eyes. "I-I see that you...c-care."

"About what?"

"A-About me." he says, breaking eye contact, looking back down at the floor.

I really, really want to lie right now. I want to tell him that I don't care about him. I want to tell him that he's wrong about that. But I can't. It's a lie.

This is going to sound really, really gay, but his eyes are so innocent, they're almost begging me to tell the truth, like I always do.

Fuck it.

"Because I do." is all I say. He still doesn't look convinced.

"Why?"

Dammit! Cornered again.

"Because I like you." How poetic.

His face is slowly, very slowly, twisting into a small smile.

When he speaks, his voice is very, very quiet.

"And how does that make you feel, C-Craig?"

That boy is a fucking genius. He knew it! He knew that, whenever I see him, I get more emotional! Fuck. Am I that obvious?

"I guess it makes me feel happy." I say. God, I sound like a little kid right now. Great, this is going to help my case a lot.

"Happy is an emotion, you know." he says slowly.

"I know."

"So, do you feel more emotion when you're around me?" he asks, his eyes wide. I think an idea just came into his brain or something, because they practically just lit up.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"C-Craig, I need you to come over to my house after school today."

"Why?"

"I need to do a thing on emotions for my psychology class." he explains. Wow, that clears up a lot. "I think you'd be perfect."

Why not? It's not like I have anything else to do.

"Sure, I'll come to your house."

"Great!" he says, turning to walk off. "S-See you then, C-Craig."

I nod and walk off in the opposite direction. Before Damien pops out of nowhere, I find his usual place and punch the seemingly uninhabited air.

A yelp comes out of nowhere and Damien appears, holding his arm.

I flip him off. "That's what you get for spying on my conversations, asshole."

"Are you positive that you're not gay for Coffee Boy?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Can I lie?" I ask him.

"True." Damien shrugs before stalking off to his Study Hall class.

xXx

"Hey, Tweek." I greet him, making sure that my middle finger stays down.

"Hi. You r-ready to go?"

"Yeah." I say. "Where do you live, anyway?"

"Within walking distance." he replies, fixing his striped brown-and-black scarf. Well, there they are. "My mom doesn't let me d-drive a car."

I nod. "Neither does mine."

We walk to Tweek's house, Tweek huffing and puffing to catch up with me, because my huge footsteps make me cover more ground in less time.

"Slow down, man! I can't run, or my heart will beat really, really fast and I won't be able to breathe and I'll die! And then the gonverment will use me for—"

"Tweek." I interrupt him before he keeps up his rants. It's better to stop him at the beginning, because as new ideas start to come into his head, he gets more and more freaked out.

"What?" he looks so sweet, like he doesn't even know what he's doing wrong.

"You're rambling again"

"Oh." he says, blushing. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Oh, good. We're here." he stops abruptly in front of a normal-sized brown house. It looks exactly like all the others houses in town—mine included.

When we walk in, everything is perfectly organized. There's a china cabinet in one corner, the plates placed perfectly (try saying that three times fast) on top of the big bowls so that they balanced. The walls are a warm shade of beige, and the carpet that goes through the whole house is brown.

"Do you like it?"

I nod. This was nothing like my house. Where I live, everything is messy. My sister never bothers to clean up her shit from downstairs. I'm usually okay about it, but even then, it's never near as clean as Tweek's house.

"My mom's at w-work, so it's just us, if you don't mind."

Don't mind? I hate meeting parents. It's so awkward, how they ask you about your day when you barely even know them. Yes, the relationship between kid's friend and kid's parents has been one I've been trying to avoid for years now.

When we reach Tweek's room, I'm not really surprised to see that the walls are striped. Black and white, everywhere. It's not dizzying, though—the stripes are wide and block-like, so that it doesn't make your head spin. His desk is clear of everything but a coffee mug and a closed laptop. His bed is perfectly made, with plain red sheets.

"Nice room." I say awkwardly. Tweek mumbles something of a "thank you" and sits down at his desk, opening his laptop. It takes him three tries to write in his password, because his hands shake so much.

He boots up Word and digs through his backpack.

"Okay, C-Craig. I'm going to do some t-tests on you. Just tell me what you see when you l-look at these blotches."

He digs out a few canvases and puts them in his lap. He shows me the first one. At first, I don't really know what to make of it. It just seems like a canvas with random paint splatters on it. But then, it morphs into different objects as my imagination kicks in.

"It looks like a little girl dancing."

"Okay..." he says, typing something into his laptop. "What about this one?"

"It looks like people shooting each other while kneeling on the ground."

Tweek giggles, but writes it in his computer.

"Okay, now, I'm going to say a few words that might be familiar to you, and tell me the first thing that comes to your mind when I say the word."

I nod. Fair enough.

"Blue."

"Color." Not a lie.

"School."

"People." Not a lie, either.

"Fun."

"Whipped cream."

He gives me a questioning look.

"When I think of the word 'fun' I think of me and Clyde having a whipped cream wars on Friday nights."

Tweek laughs again, then continues.

"Satan."

"Asshole." is my immediate response.

"Friends."

"My middle finger."

"Hate."

"People."

"Love."

"Family."

Tweek writes in a few notes, then puts the list of words he made for me away.

"Okay, next I'm going to see how you respond to—ngh!—physical st-stimuli."

"English, please." I say.

"I'm going to poke you, and you'll tell me how you feel."

I laugh. "Okay."

He pokes me. Nothing, really.

Again. Nothing.

Third time. Nothing.

He keeps on poking me, occasionally asking me how it feels. I just respond with "Fine."

"Okay, let's try something else."

Soon enough, he's jabbing me in the ribs and I fall on his bed, laughing and kicking him, trying to get him to stop tickling me.

"How...does that make you feel?" he asks, trying to quit laughing as I grimace when he tickles me again.

"Ah...it makes me feel...vulnerable, I guess. AH! Stop it, dammit!" I say, laughing hard against my will.

He stops. Thank fucking God.

"How about this?" he asks, In my peripheral vision, I can see him circle around me until he's behind me. Soon I feel Tweek's fingertips lightly tracing my shoulder blades. I can practically feel all the tension from the tickling attack he launched on me evaporate underneath his hands.

"Relaxed."

"Okay." Now I can feel him slowly take off my hat. When he pushes his fingers through my hair, I can't help but slump my shoulders as I feel my stress float away to who-knows-where.

"It makes me feel...tingly."

He laughs. "T-Tingly?"

"Isn't that an emotion?"

"No, I-I don't think so."

"Oh, okay then."

He shifts so that I'm facing him. His hands pull me in closer.

"What about this?"

Slowly he leans in and plants his lips lightly against my forehead.

I want to lie. I want to lie so, so badly.

"Are you positive tingly isn't an emotion?" I ask him, feeling myself smile.

**Pun of the chapter-**

**Person gets Chinese food for take-out. Person takes out the fortune cookie. Its smushed up into a billion pieces. That's unfortunate.**

**Haha.**

**Okay, I hope you guys liked this chapter! It was so fluffy, and I didn't want things to move too fast between these guys, so yeah. Please review if you can, and follow and favorite and stuff! But don't worry, I'm not one of those people who won't update unless people review. While I really do appreciate your feedback, I can still update without much of it, because I'M A STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN WHO DON'T NEED NO MAN!**

**Okay, I need to sleep now. Good night...:/**


	5. Chapter 5 - Saint's Row 2

**Chapter 5! This is pretty fluffy (literally xD)**

**Enjoy! I spent a lot of time on this...**

Oh, hell.

What the fuck did I just say? That was probably the worst response I could've possibly given. Now Tweek probably thinks I'm gay. Even more likely, he probably thinks I'm gay for HIM.

Which I'm not.

But I really, really don't want to hurt his feelings.

"Look, I-I've gotta go." I say awkwardly, lacing up my shoes that I had kicked off earlier.

Tweek doesn't say anything. He just stares at his feet and hugs his knees. I feel guilt start to seep in, but I leave before it completely fills me up.

"See you tomorrow." I say, trying to force a smile as I open the door. Tweek nods, eyes focused on the floor. Even then, I could tell they were starting to swim with tears.

I close the door.

Did I just make Tweek cry?

I think I did.

God, I'm an asshole. Why did I just leave him there? All he did was show...friendly affection.

Right?

I'd have to get back to myself on that.

But still, I feel horrible for just ditching Tweek like that. Even though it wasn't really my fault. I mean, Tweek was the one who made the move, wasn't he? All I did was...

Let it happen.

Damn it.

Suddenly, my brain's gears begin to turn again and I think of an idea. One that was extremely simple, extremely Craig-like. But still, it was a pretty damn good idea. I will counterbalance the pain I had just inflicted on Tweek and the guilt I have inflicted on myself by being extremely nice to him. I mean, what bad can come out of that? Tweek gets me as a good friend, and I get to counterbalance my karma.

Yes, I really do believe in all that mumbo-jumbo. Go fuck yourself.

Starting tomorrow, I will be Mr. Nice Craig. Not the one that flips everyone off, not the one that bluntly states the obvious. I will be the guy that everyone looks up to. The one that people can count on. The one that helps little old ladies cross the street, or whatever.

I will be Super Craig.

I grin. That sounds pretty fucking awesome.

xXx

The next day, I stay true to my promise to myself.

"Hey, guys." I greet Token, Clyde, and Damien at the door of school.

"Uh, hey." Clyde says back, surprised when I don't flip him off.

"He's worse than yesterday." Token states. Well, well, well. Look who became the new asshole.

"Look, you guys." I say. "I did something...bad yesterday. I'm trying to counterbalance it to get the universe on my side."

Damien just starts laughing.

"Dude! Did you fuck someone or something?! Are you a fucking Mormon now or something?" he says between howls of laughing.

"Hey, in this hick-town, you need all the luck you can get." Token points out.

"See? Token agrees with me." I say.

"What exactly did you...do?" Clyde raises an eyebrow.

"I...don't want to talk about it." I say. Damn it! Why can't I just lie? Now they're going to push even more.

Token and Clyde nod understandingly. Damien just gives me a skeptical look, but doesn't question.

Oh, I guess I was wrong there.

"Look, I gotta go." I say, pushing through them to find Tweek.

I find the guy sitting in a chair in the office. The tremors that are coursing through his body make me do a double-take, just to check that the chair he's sitting in isn't electric.

He sees me, and his eyes grow wider. I swear, the color drains from his face right then.

Then, he plasters on a fake smile. I can see right through it. He's scared as hell.

"Uh, hi, C-Craig." he says shakily.

I sit down next to him. The office lady gives me a glare.

"Hey, Tweek. What're you doing here?" I say, surprisingly smoothly.

"I-I-Nothing. I just...forgot my th-thermos." he mumbles. "My dad's gonna have to c-come and bring it."

I can't help but grin. I had planned something like this to happen.

"Hey. I have some coffee in my bag, if you want some now."

When I say that, he looks over at me. His eyes are almost puppy-dog like, but, from the way the rest of his face looks, it doesn't seem intentional.

Without saying anything, I dig around in my bag for the thermos I brought. I finally pull it out, victorious against the battle between good and evil—also known as my hellhole of a bag.

Before I can give it to him, he's already taken it, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip in what looks like a blur. After a long sip, he puts down the thermos and gives me a greatful stare. Tweek's face is priceless, I won't hide it. His smile is wide across his face, and his shaking has reduced significantly.

"Thank you so much, C-Craig. You won't b-believe how much I d-depend on coffee."

Before I can stop them, words fly out of my mouth.

"I just want you to know, Tweek, you can depend on me, too."

Like this moment could get any cheesier.

"O-okay, C-Craig." he says. Even though his words are solid, his voice still sounds unsure.

"Why don't you come over to my house for video games or something after school with Token, Clyde, Damien and I?"

Tweek hesitates, tugs at his hair for a minute, then speaks.

"Y-Yeah, that'd be f-fun."

I grin. "Cool, see you after class."

Before I turn to leave the office, I grab Tweek's wrist, tense from fisting his hair.

"Don't pull your hair. I like it." I whisper, before squeezing his wrist slightly and then letting go. He looks me in the eye and nods, coffee-brown eyes full of curiosity.

I give him a smile before standing up and looking at the office lady. The death glare that she gives me is full of disgust. I flip her off with both of my hands and stalk out of there.

Okay, I can give myself a break, can't I?

XxX

"Clyde, Token, Damien. Video games. My house. Now." I say, slinging my backpack haphazardly over my shoulder. I have decided throughout the course of the day that being nice to everyone is too difficult, so Tweek is the only one that I'm going to be Super Craig for. I have also discovered that yesterday isn't the only reason I want to be nice to Tweek. He just seems so vulnerable, like a china doll or something. He needs to be handled carefully. No, he DESERVES to be handled carefully. Therefore, I am going to give him what he deserves, no questions asked.

I don't have a soft spot for him, okay?

"Dude, I'm in." Clyde says, whooping. "You've got the best games."

"Me, too." Damien says.

Everyone looks at Token. He shakes his head.

"Sorry, guys. I've got my vocal lesson after school today."

Clyde rolls his eyes. "Dude, fuck the vocal lesson. Just ditch. You hate the teacher anyway, and—"

Damien interrupts. "Hate? What? I can kill your music teacher, if you want me to."

Sick bastard. He'll jump at any chance he gets to kill anyone. It gives him this high. Most of the time, though, I just let him play shooters at my house, so he can get his fill without actually causing chaos.

I just realize how fucked up Damien is.

Oh well.

"Damien, fuck off." I say, glaring at my most likely clinically insane friend.

Damien puts his hands up in defense, his red eyes widening slightly.

"Jesus, dude. Calm down."

Token leaves. He usually does that, when the conversation gets too annoying, too boring, or too fucking weird.

"Guess it's just us, then." Clyde says blankly.

"No." I say. "Tweek's coming, too."

Damien shoots me an evil look. I elbow him in the ribs. He lets out a small cry of pain, then gives me his best death glare. Even if he is a wimp, Damien sure can make a guy want to piss himself with his eyes.

Clyde just laughs, completely oblivious. As always. Good ol' Clyde wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary, even if a train were to come straight for him.

"Hey, g-guys." Tweek waves, catching up with out group. Damien and Clyde greet him. Damien's grin makes suspicion rise in my gut.

Tweek's right eye twitches when Damien doesn't break eye contact.

"D-Damien. You c-can s-stop now...AHH! C-CRAIG! TELL HIM TO STOP! HE'S SC-SCARING ME!"

Damien doesn't stop. "Boo." he murmurs.

Tweek practically jumps into my arms, his face burying itself in my chest, his hands balled up into fists.

"C-CRAIG!" he shrieks, his voice muffled from my jacket.

"Damien, stop being a dick." I say, giving him a stop-fucking-embarassing-me-you're-not-helping look.

"Fine, fine." he says, turning to look ahead as we walk, trying to hold back a laugh.

Clyde just shoves his hands into his pockets and hums the tune to the song he's listening to on his iPod.

When we reach my house, I pump my fist in triumph when I find that my parents' cars aren't in the driveway. I hate it when they talk to my friends.

"Alright, let's do this." I say, walking into the mudroom of my house, throwing my jacket lazily on the floor. Damien and Clyde follow suit. Tweek hesitates, then puts his jacket on a hook.

I then make my way to the fridge, opening it to find three cans of whipped cream.

Let me tell you this. I have a weakness for whipped cream. Sometimes, when I'm too lazy to make myself lunch or pester my mom for lunch money, I go to the store and but a can of whipped cream for lunch. Unhealthy? Maybe so. Fucking awesome? Yes.

I throw Damien and Clyde each a full can. Those two are like Neanderthals when they eat. They'd probably—well, at least Damien—would eat each other if they had nothing left.

That leaves one for Tweek and I to share.

No big deal. I'm not that hungry, anyway.

"Just so you know, Craig, I'm gonna pick the bloodiest, goriest shooter game you own." Damien informs me through a mouthful of whipped cream.

"So this is the whipped cream fight thing I heard about." Tweek murmurs thoughtfully, grinning when Clyde mumbles a "Mhmm", spitting flecks of white everywhere.

"Sometimes it can get pretty crazy here." Damien says, laughing as Clyde almost chokes on the whipped cream. "Craig's room still has stains from our last fight."

Damien then slaps Clyde on the back, and whipped cream sprays everywhere. Tweek lets out a cry of surprise.

"Hey, it's okay." I say, smiling. "It's just whipped cream. Here, open your mouth."

He obliges. I spray a modest amount of the stuff into his mouth. He tastes it, then smiles.

"I-I only get a little whipped cream in my-my coffee." he says, licking his lips. "I've n-never ate it out of the c-can before."

Clyde grins, recovered from his awkward choking. "Then this is your first time. Now let's play."

Damien digs out Saint's Row 2, and we start playing.

"AHH! Wh-What is this?" Tweek asks, horrified.

"Only the goriest video game of all time." Damien says casually, smirking.

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick." Tweek says, covering his face with his hands as Damien's chainsaw hacks the head off an innocent civilian.

Slowly, I drape my arm over his shoulders.

"Don't worry,Tweek. It's just a game."

Tweek lets out a small yelp, folding himself into a tiny ball. "What if the government made this game to kill us? What if it comes to life? I don't want to get killed by a chainsaw!" he cries, his voice quiet.

"Calm down, dude." Clyde pats his back slightly, before returning to the game. "That's not gonna happen."

"How do you know?" is Damien's sly response.

I flip him off before putting down my controller.

"It's okay." I assure the twitching ball that's to my left. "You don't have to play if you don't want to. Here, open."

He lifts his head and opens his mouth. From the awkward position he's in, the whipped cream kind of gets all over his face. He giggles.

"You've got a little..." I trail off, wiping the cream off his face with my thumb. "Nevermind, I got it."

Damien shoots me that look again. I return it with a glare and look back at Tweek.

"Th-thanks, C-Craig..." he says, smiling in that almost irresistible way of his.

"No problem." I smile back.

My guilt has dissipated.

**See? Fluffy, right! Whipped cream and shit.**

**Anyway, sorry about the video game thing. I have zero knowledge of gory games, so I just looked it up, and found that the game I mentioned is about a guy who kills people for fun. Sounds like Damien, doesn't it?**

**Pun of the day:**

**I'm a thief. I don't eat organic food. I eat YOURganic food.**


	6. Chapter 6 - Super Craig, To The Rescue!

**Hey, guys! Here's another chapter for you all. I'm really sorry it's so short, but the idea was in my head today and I HAD to write it down...**

**and THAT, children, is how good ol' Maddox writes her chapters...**

Tweek lets out another yelp when the sound of a simulated knife going into a simulated body is heard.

"AUGH! I-I c-can't t-take this. C-Craig, do you have a coffee machine...?" he peeks up at me, eyes still half-shielded from his fingers.

"Downstairs in the kitchen, by the wood cabinet." I instruct him. He nods and rushes downstairs. After a few moments, I feel my perfectly crappy phone vibrate in my pocket.

_New Message_

_From: Damien_

_Message:_

_You like him, dude. Stop being a fucking retard and come to terms with it already._

I give Damien a what-the-fuck look from behind Clyde, who is oh-so-conveniently placed between us, playing the game with gusto—completely oblivious as to what's going on. As usual.

My fingers don't hesitate to write a response.

_New Message_

_To: Damien_

_Message:_

_I don't like him. Now, will you just let it go already?_

Moments later, my phone vibrates again.

_Look, man. I really don't care if you're gay. He's a great guy. So why won't you just admit it? None of us will care._

Again, it takes me no effort to write back. My fingers fly across the keyboard, as if of their own accord.

_How many times do I have to tell you? I. Don't. Like. Him. Get it through your fucked-up head._

Damien gives me a look. I guess today is one of those rare occasions where I don't know what he's trying to communicate to me without speaking.

The only words that flash across my words are scary ones.

_Have it your way._

Oh, fuck. What's he going to pull THIS time? If he hurts Tweek, I'm going to tell his dad to fry him until his ass is dust.

Damien's eyes flicker for a moment as he stares me down.

Right as my middle finger prepares for a show, a shrill scream is heard from downstairs.

"AHH! SWEET JESUS!"

Immediately, we drop everything and go down the stairs.

The scene in front of me makes me do a quick double-take.

Tweek is sitting on the floor, clutching his left hand and wincing in pain. There's a growing brown puddle on the ground around him, steadily growing and staining the before-white tile a chocolate color. The coffee has also made it onto his shirt. The cherry on top, though, is the shards of ceramic that are scattered all over the floor.

"What happened?" Clyde asks, leaning over the banister of the stairs, afraid to step on the jagged pieces of the now destroyed coffee mug.

"I-I don't know! I was holding my cup of coffee, and then it...exploded! I'msosorryCraigIreallydidn'tmeantobreakyourcuppleasefor givemeitwasn'tmeitwasthegovermentpleaseju stdon'thatemeit'stoomuchpressure!"

Without hesitation, I make my way over to where Tweek is sitting, tears now streaming down his face.

"Did you hurt yourself?" I ask.

"M-my...h-hand." he says slowly, showing me.

There's a cut across the palm of his hand, and it's bleeding pretty heavily.

I'm not a doctor. I don't really know how to put on a bandage. Most of the time, my mom does it for me, I won't lie. Yeah, I love my mom. Is there an issue?

"Oh, God..." I mumble, looking closely at his hand. "DAMIEN!" I call over my shoulder.

Expectantly, we all wait for a response, but there is none.

"That bastard." I mutter. "He left."

Looks like it's up to me to get Tweek patched up. Super Craig to the rescue.

"Here, follow me." I take his uninjured hand and help him stand up. He rubs his eyes and blushes, probably flustered that I just saw him cry.

Gingerly, I make my way through the shards of the broken mug, getting to the bathroom without getting impaled.

"Sit down and take off your shirt." I order him, pointing to the toilet. He complies without question.

I dig around through the cabinets until I find what I'm looking for. Tweezers, some of that stinging cream shit, and a bandage.

"Oh, God!" Tweek chokes out when he sees the tweezers. "It's gonna hurt, isn't it?"

I can't help but feel my mouth dry up when I see Tweek without a shirt. His pale skin is smooth and even, tight over the smooth muscles underneath. Yep, muscles. Tweek isn't just skin and bones after all. His shoulders aren't very wide, but they're toned enough to prove that he does indeed box. I expected him to be extremely skinny, but he isn't. His chest is filled out enough so that you can barely see his ribs. Tweek looked...healthy.

Well, except for the cut on his hand, which I immediately bring my attention back to.

"It's okay." I assure him. "It'll only hurt for a second."

I focus on the cut, the small pair of tweezers slightly shaking in my hands. I've never really done this before, but there's a first time for everything.

Slowly but surely, I pull out the pieces of ceramic in Tweek's hand. He whimpers after I pull out every piece, but I keep going.

"There." I say. "That's done."

I pull out the cream stuff and rub it on Tweek's hand. He hisses in pain, then starts whimpering again.

"Shh." I murmur, focuing on the cut. "Now, what color band-aid to you want?" I smile up at him. His eyes are watering from the pain, but they soften as soon as I look into them.

"S-Striped." he points to the black-and-white striped one in the box. I don't break eye contact as I put on the band-aid.

"Th-thanks, C-Craig. I-I feel a lot better." he smiles shyly.

"Hey, no problem." I say. Before I know what I'm doing, I bring his injured hand up to my lips and kiss it. He blushes even more, his expression almost childlike.

It's so fucking adorable, I could just melt.

Well, not just me. Anyone, really.

"CRAIG!"

We both jump as Clyde yells through the door.

"I've gotta get back home, dude! Seeya tomorrow!"

Tweek and I let out a quick goodbye, and I hear my door close.

"Here, I might have a shirt for you." I say, opening the door of our old, battered clothes dryer. I dig around until I find a plain gray tank top and toss it to him. He catches it and tries to find the right opening, pulling his arms through the holes, wincing as pressure it applied on his hand. The thin, worn fabric is al scrunched up, so that half of his midriff is exposed. The pale, almost milky skin is perfect, almost angel-like.

I can't help it. I feel a warm feeling spread through...

..my nose?

"Augh, FUCK!" I shout, clutching my nose with one hand and grabbing a tissue from the box on sink counter.

"What h-happened, C-Craig?" Tweek asks, walking over to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He cringes again as his left hand touches my body.

"I got a nosebleed."

Fuck, sometimes not being able to lie to save your ass is a fucking curse.

"O-Oh. W-well, my mom taught me this—this remedy on how to—to stop a nosebleed."

"What is it?" I ask, my voice even more nasal than usual from clutching my nose.

"D-Do you have any v-vinegar?" he asks.

xXx

As I cover my nostril with a cotton ball soaked in vinegar, Tweek insists on cleaning up the mess he made.

"I-It's okay." he says. "I like c-cleaning."

"Fine, but at least let me help you." I tell him, throwing the cotton ball into the trash can, ignoring the smelly burst of air that escaped when I opened it.

He nods and grabs a rag, soaking up the coffee. I grab a broom and a dustpan and sweep up the pieces of the mug he dropped. He has an expression of shame on his face. Immediately, I feel bad, even though I didn't really do anything.

After I've finished sweeping and he's finished cleaning the floor, we make our way back to my room.

"N-Now what do you want to d-do?" he asks, sitting on my bed.

"Uh, well...my sister watched _The Muppets _on demand last night." I offer weakly, sitting down beside him.

His eyes widen in excitement. "I love The Muppets!" he says eagerly, bouncing up and down.

I laugh. This kid can be so goofy sometimes.

As we watch the movie, I surprisingly like it more than I thought I would. I expect it to be one of those stupid kid movies, but it isn't. I laugh throughout the whole movie.

About halfway through, Tweek shifts his position so that his head rests on my shoulder. Subconsciously, I wrap one arm lazily around his waist.

That's not gay. I'm just being...nice to him. Because I have agreed with myself that he's more delicate than my other friends, and that I therefore should treat him that way.

Plus, he doesn't seem to mind.

So what's the big fucking deal?

My thought is interrupted when Tweek speaks softly.

"I-I really didn't drop the m-mug, though. It literally ex-exploded in my hand."

I nod. "I wonder what happened. Maybe the coffee was too hot and it caused some sort of chemical reaction."

I'm really talking like Super Craig now.

"You're so smart..." Tweek sighs. "I-I wish I could be like you..."

"That's not true." I say sharply, looking down to meet his eyes. "You're smarter than I am."

He pouts. "No."

I raise an eyebrow. "What grade did you get on that paper on emotions I helped you with?"

A slight blush forms on his cheeks.

"I-I aced it." he says quietly.

"See?" I say, victorious in our argument. "You're smart."

"B-Because I like psychology. In everything else...I just can't focus."

"Why do you like psychology?"

"Because I can learn more about my own issues." is his quick response. I chuckle.

"And why can't you focus in any other classes?"

It takes a while to respond. He takes a breath. He takes another one.

"Because—Because I'm thinking about—"

My phone vibrates again, and Tweek exhales, almost in a relieved way. I look at the screen.

_New Message_

_From: Damien_

_Message:_

_You're welcome._

**Sorry again about the shortness! Length aside, I think this was a pretty cool chapter. I liked writing it, that's for sure. Another quick note: I don't have a Beta reader, so that's why sometimes some things sound weird...**

**Should the next chapter be in Tweek's POV? Tell me in a review if it should. I don't know if I'll continue to switch points of view after that one chapter, but I think Tweek's opinion on Craig would help with the story. I've also realized that there are a few holes in the story (I hate it when that happens) so I'll try my best to patch those up in the next few chapters.**

**PUN OF THE CHAPTER! (This made me laugh my ass off...)  
**

**A boy was caught jacking off in French class. He was touching his oui-oui.**

**..and, there we go. Some French, even in a story without Ze Mole...**

**Reviews always make me excited! :D**


	7. Chapter 7 - Craig's Fked Up Family

**Sorry for the long wait! I've been doing this singing thing all week, and I've had exams at the same time. The beginning part of the thing is Tweek's POV. It's shorter than I wanted it to be, but you'll hear more from him later in the chapters. Enjoy! :)**

I can't sleep. At all.

I mean, this is a usual thing. I never can get myself to close my eyes. It's too big a risk—I might get killed in my sleep! But tonight, it's a different reason.

Whenever I close my eyes, I see Craig.

Craig, the unreadable, emotionless-and probably soulless—boy I grew up with. I never really knew him, though. He was just there, throughout my life. I never bothered to learn more about him—he, to me, was just the guy that flipped off everyone and anything, for what looked like no reason at all.

Until now.

Now, I know what lies beneath the surface. Underneath the stony look in those stormy gray eyes lies something that no one can see.

Except me.

I can see it. I can see how he actually cares about things. He actually cares about his family, his friends, school, everything a normal kid would care about. The difference is that Craig hides it. He forces it away where he thinks no one can see it, into a small piece of his mind that he has hidden under lock and key.

And, for some reason, Craig has given me—of all people—the key.

Me, the twitchy, obsessive coffee addict. Me, the kid who never bothers to brush his hair and twitches so much he might as well be on vibrate. Me, the freak.

I can feel my hands fisting my hair, and I think about what he said today in the main office.

"_Don't pull your hair. I like it."_

The thought only makes my fists clench.

Today was definitely a confusing day. First, Craig says that he likes my hair.

My hair is probably the craziest in the world. It looks like I spike it or something, but I don't. It just looks that way—big, unruly tufts poking out from every direction.

Who the hell would like that?

Second. He puts a crapload of whipped cream in my mouth.

Why couldn't he have made Damien or Clyde share theirs with me? That was pretty puzzling, to say the least. Craig isn't one to share, really. When we were little, he'd always make us bring our own Megaman toys from home, and never let us use any of them. My mom never got me a Megaman—she said it'd be a bad influence on me to watch shooting and violence at my age, and with my problems—so Token had to lend me one of his many action figures if I ever wanted to play.

Anyway, third. That mug exploded.

I didn't even break the damn thing myself. I wasn't even shaking, due to the wonderful aroma that was radiating from the mug. Yep, just the smell of coffee calms me down.

But the point is, I didn't even do anything. I was holding the cup of joe like—call the presses—a normal person.

Odd.

Lastly.

Craig kissed my hand when he helped clean up my injury.

That doesn't faze me much. I kissed him once—on the forehead—when he came over to my house. It was merely an experiment for school, nothing more. But here, Craig didn't have to kiss my hand. He had a choice there. And he did it.

Why?

Anyway, it was the way I felt afterward that makes me queasy. I was lightheaded the whole time afterwards, and, in some moment of mass stupidity, my body rebelled against my mind and I snuggled up to Craig like it was no big deal.

But it was. It's a huge deal!

I can feel my mind racing about a hundred miles an hour, trying to decipher the paradox that is Craig Tucker. But, I can't bring myself to figure anything out, because the fog of sleepiness is clouding my thoughts.

Finally, I give in.

Time to sleep.

And...here I am. In my dreams. Subconsciously, I groan. But no, in my dreams, I'm happily walking, hand-in-hand with Craig. His face is animated—yep, this is a dream—and he's talking and laughing and grinning at me like I'm some sort of god.

In my head, I'm telling myself that I'm dreaming. He's not real. No one could be this perfect.

He's squeezing my hand tighter with his own and looking into my eyes in amusement.

Wake up, Tweek, wake up! It's no use. Damn it, why'd I have to fall asleep in the first place?

Now he's tracing my jaw lightly with his fingertips, and I'm smiling like a complete idiot.

I'm screaming on the inside now. Stop it, Tweek. Stop fantasizing. There's only going to be that disappointment when you wake up, like all the other times.

No. Dream-me thinks differently. Dream-me thinks that, this time, Craig's gonna be real. When I open my eyes, he's gonna be there. I just know it.

I'm losing this battle within myself. Craig's leaning in, and my back's against the wall of a building.

Fuck it. I can be disappointed when I wake up, that it was all a dream. I just want to feel that lightheaded feeling again.

And there it is. His lips are against mine, and they're moving perfectly together. I'm tangling my fingers in his perfect black hair, making less perfect. His lips are warming me up, even though they're only touching one part of my body. I can feel the slight stubble on his cheeks as his face rubs against mine, and it's making me giggle slightly from the ticklish feeling. Soon he's laughing, too, and he's broken away from me, telling me quietly how much he enjoys being around me, how he doesn't know how he could live without me, how he lo—

Okay, I'm awake again.

"CRAIG! DINNER!"

"CRAIG!"

"GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"

I guess I didn't hear my family calling me about eighty times for dinner. Oh, well.

When I finally do come down, Mom is giving me a death glare, and Dad is already eating.

"Finally." Ruby says, digging into her chicken.

I put some food on my plate and sit down, flipping her off in the process. She returns it before putting a big mouthful of food in her mouth.

"What the hell were you doing? We were calling you." Dad asks, his mouth full of broccoli.

"Homework." I say flatly.

Dad shoots me a glance that reads _Really? Why aren't you doing normal social crap with other rowdy, horny teenagers?_

Well, Dad, the answer is simple—I fucking hate rowdy, horny teenagers.

"Son, you should be out with friends. Socializing." Dad points out.

Let me stress that my father isn't exactly the smartest man out there. He's often fighting against the hippies in our town, alongside with the other hillbilly assholes. He's the tallest guy in our town—explaining how I got the "gift" of height—but that's where the similarities between us end. Dad's got red hair, and his face is round and sort of chubby. My face is made up of too many sharp angles and, obviously, I've got black hair. My dad is a big, muscular guy, while I've got a lanky sort of build. Ruby told me once that I look like a giant praying mantis. In summary, I'm nothing like the guy. At all.

"Dad, my friends suck." I inform him, diving headfirst into the heaping plate of food in front of me.

"So? You should be enjoying your life." Dad replies. "When you're an old geezer like me, you won't be able to."

"Thomas, don't say stuff like that." Mom scolds.

My mom is the polar opposite of my dad. She's short and thin, with blond hair and brown eyes. She tells me every day to do my homework, and that good grades are the most important thing in life right now. School first, she says. Friends after.

Why she married my dad? Beats me.

Frankly, I agree with her. I don't want to end up like Kenny McCormick, working at Burger King with nothing to show for my education but a high school diploma.

"It's true, hon!" Dad retorts. Ruby shoots me an eye roll. Her and I are used to our parents seemingly incessant bickering. "Our kid needs to be out and about, or he'll end up alone later in life!"

Mom is drilling holes in Dad's head with her eyes.

"He needs to do his schoolwork, or he'll end up on the street with no job!"

Wait. Can someone please explain to me how I'm not adopted?

"Look at our son! He's got two friends, Gail! Two!"

"Two is enough! He'll have way more in college!"

"For God's sake, he hasn't even got a girlfriend!"

"So?"

"So? Our kid's a NOBODY!"

Nice, Dad. You played that card, huh?

If he said anything more, I swear, there would be steam coming out of Mom's ears.

Her voice is quiet and shaky. She takes a quick breath.

"That's not true. Craig, are there any girls that you're interested in that we should know about?" she gives me an apologetic glance, her eyes softening.

I rack my brain for a minute. I've kissed a girl. Once. Not with tongue and shit, though. That's fucking gross.I didn't even want to kiss her, I was dared to by Clyde. So I marched up to Bebe in fifth grade without a doubt in my mind, pushed my lips against hers for half a second, flipped her off, and walked away. The end.

Ladies and gentlemen, the wonderful love story of Craig Tucker.

But...a girlfriend? No. Never. Girls are too much maintenance. They cry and whine and squeal and...ugh. They're disgusting.

"No." I finally say. "They're all sluts."

Dad's head goes into his hands. Mom gives me a small, reassuring smile before returning her attention to Dad, arguing again.

It's like Charlie Brown. All I hear when my parents talk is a shitty trombone playing.

_Wah, waahhh wahh wah wah._

So I finish my food without bothering to care about what my parents are jabbering about, put it in the dishwasher, and slink back up the stairs. Ruby follows, flipping me off before heading into her room.

Before I can pull on my headphones, I hear my name being used from downstairs, through the din of the trombone.

I have a small grate in the corner of my room, and through it you can see the dinner table downstairs. When Clyde and I were little, we used to look through it and spy on our parents.

I laugh at the thought and peer down, trying to keep quiet.

"Gail, our son hasn't so much as _looked _at a girl since he was ten years old. Don't you find that a little...strange?"

I feel my eyebrows go up.

"Sure, it might be a little...peculiar." Mom admits. "But Craig's a very handsome boy. He's ought to find someone soon."

Holy shit, they're agreeing on something? I should record this and remember it for the rest of eternity.

"I know, I know." my father says, sighing. "What I'm concerned about is...will it be the right person?"

I don't need to hear that twice to realize that all the color has drained out of my face.

"What do you mean?" Mom asks.

"I mean, he's been hanging around those two guys for a long time." Dad points out. "What if he's grown ... attached to them?"

Pshh. That's going to happen at the same time as Damien crying over a kicked puppy. Clyde is the pinnacle of the word "Jock", and Token's, well, Token. Probably one of the straightest guys in school. Trust me, if I went for either of them, the girls would be pulling out my heart and shoving it down my throat.

Nah, scratch that. If I was ever in love with them, I'd probably kill myself.

"That might be the case." Mom nods.

"Oh, God." Dad whispers. "We might have a gay son."

"I know it's a lot to take in, Thomas." Mom pats Dad's back. "Who knows? Maybe he's just... not ready yet."

"Not ready? He's sixteen, for Christ's sake!"

"Don't worry about it, Thomas." Mom says, wrapping her arms around my dad. "I'll talk to him."

Dad nods and picks up his plate, along with Mom's. She soon disappears from the table, and I hear footsteps come up the stairs.

Oh, fuck.

**CLIFFHANGER (ish.)**

**Okay, the pun of the chapter isn't really a pun. It's just irony, and it ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME!**

**I was playing Scrabble today with this girl, and she spelled the word "whore". The score, when the points from the word were added, was 69.**

**She got the word WHORE for 69 POINTS! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA**

**I died, in short.**

**The next chapter might not come as soon as usual, because I have to sing till, like, forever tomorrow, and I have a concert Saturday. So, Sunday, probably. If I can get it in anytime earlier, I'll try.**

**PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE review! I love reviews so very much, and I haven't been getting as many lately. It makes me so happy to see the email thing on my phone that tells me that I have a review! I literally get high off reviews... xD**


	8. Chapter 8 - The Gears Are Turning!

**As promised, I'm updating on a Sunday. My friend and I were fangirling over South Park ships today, so it motivated me. Sean, if you're reading this, I'm thanking you for this chapter.**

**Alright, let's do this.**

* * *

She's coming up the stairs.

She's at the door.

She's knocking.

"Come in." I hear myself say in a strangled voice, trying my best to keep my composure.

She pokes her head in through the door before coming in.

"Craig, I think we should talk."

"I think we shouldn't." I say back automatically.

She doesn't listen, crossing over to my bed and sitting down next to me. I hug my knees and become suddenly very interested in my bedsheets.

"Your father and I have been noticing that you're not interacting with many people lately." she says, trying to catch my eye. I refuse to look at her. I will not look at her.

"That's not true." I say, as soon as she finishes. "I hang out with Clyde and Token all the time."

She sighs. "Yes, I know." Mom then pauses, looking for the right words. "But, what about...the opposite gender?"

She looks up at me hopefully.

I hate to tell ya, mom, but...

"Girls are disgusting." I say, glaring at my shoes. "They all wear too much makeup and wear shirts that are cut too low and spray on smelly shit that makes them think they smell good, when it's really just accentuating the fact that they fucking reek."

Wow. Did I just say that in one breath?

Mom puts a hand on my shoulder. It feels awkward and misplaced, so I instantly squirm away. Her eyes show a look of hurt, and I feel guilty for a second for denying her motherly affection, but I soon regain my glare.

"Look, sweetie, I think..." she stops again. "I think that your opinion on girls is definitely not one of an average teenage boy."

I finally look up at her, raising an eyebrow. What the hell is she trying to communicate to me here?

"Craig, most boys your age like girls with low cut shirts and makeup. Have you ever thought about how that might...mean something?"

"Yes." I say. "It makes me realize that all boys my age are fucking retards."

Mom sighs. "I guess that's one way to put it. What about guys, Craig? What's your opinion?"

Why the fuck was she asking me these questions?

Whatever. Might as well answer, she is my mom, after all.

"Guys are okay." I tell her. "Some of them are douchebags, but the rest of them are nice enough."

She nods, holding her chin in one hand, propping her elbow up on my bedpost.

"Have you ever...thought about another boy, Craig?" she asks, quietly.

Then it sets in.

My mother is trying to ask me, subtly, if I'm gay.

I freeze. Time has stopped, in a way. My brain is moving at a glacial pace, trying to put together the pieces here. The gears in my mind are turning, slowly. Something in them is jammed, something that shouldn't be there. But what was it.

From far away, I hear my mother's voice.

"What I'm trying to ask is...do you like boys, Craig?"

Okay, that helps. The gears are starting to turn a bit faster. The thing that's jammed in my head is still there, though. It feels almost like it belongs there, or, at least, has been there for a long time now.

Liking boys? Huh.

I've never really liked a boy before. I mean, in the locker room in P.E, I've looked at guys' abs before, admired them, but I thought all guys did that.

I guess not. I guess normal guys admire tits instead.

I guess I'm not normal, then, because I've never really noticed—or cared about—girls' tits before.

Huh.

Sure enough, the object that is wrenched into my mind begins to loosen. More thoughts of how my childhood was never normal—the kiss I got from Sally Darsen for five dollars, and how it didn't feel right, the dare Clyde gave me to kiss Bebe, and how that didn't feel right, either. How Tweek leaned over and kissed my forehead, and how that made me feel warm inside. How that made me _feel_, period.

Suddenly, the gears begin to work again, at the thought of Tweek.

The problem object falls, and I realize what it was.

Denial.

I denied that I felt a spark when our hands touched when we grabbed the dreaded History book. I denied that the way Tweek kissed my forehead made me feel perfect. I denied that kissing his band-aid when he broke the mug meant anything. I denied that I cared about him more than I should.

For all this time, I've told everyone I can't lie, but I have. I've been lying to myself.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. Finally, my mouth gets connected to my brain, and I look into my mother's eyes, a newfound confidence suddenly giving me a sense of security.

She'll understand. Maybe not Dad, but Mom will.

I nod.

"Yeah, Mom." I say, the words sliding out of my mouth, painfully slowly. "I'll be damned. I'm fucking gay."

When I look into her eyes, I expect to see a lot of confusion, and maybe some disgust, but that's not the case. Right now, she looks wise and omniscient, almost like she knew all along.

"I knew it." she whispers, hugging me. I can feel my ribs groaning under the pressure.

"Mom." I choke out. "Can't...breathe."

She breaks away and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

"I won't tell your father just yet. I know that this must be a little overwhelming, so I won't tell anyone, unless you want me to."

I nod. Sure, I can tell myself I'm gay now and not care, but I'm definitely not ready for anyone—especially my dad—to know.

"Thanks, Mom." I say, smiling.

She smiles back, regaining her usual stubborn voice. "Get to bed, now. It's late."

I nod, and return the finger when she flips me off before closing the door and leaving me alone. I change into a beat-up nightshirt and sweats, brush my teeth, and take off my hat as I collapse down onto my bed.

All this thinking has worn me out.

As I close my eyes, something catches my attention, making me open them again. It's glowing red. My mind is foggy from almost-sleep, so it takes me a while to turn on my bedside table lamp to see what it is.

I suppress a scream when I see him.

Damien is standing, right in front of my bed, grinning.

"What. The. Fuck." I say, flipping him off with both hands.

His smile stretches even wider.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation." he says mockingly. "Finally came to terms with it, did you?"

I want to strangle him, but I take a deep breath and nod.

"You do know that if people find out, you're screwed, right?" he asks, raising a black eyebrow.

"Yes."

"And you know that you're going to hell, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know that you like Tweek?"

I hesitate, but I nod. "Yes."

He smirks. "I was right."

I roll my eyes. Sure, he was right, but I didn't know that I liked Tweek at the moment.

"Yes, you were." I admit. "Happy now?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Why?"

"I won't be happy until you admit your feelings for him."

I shoot him a glare.

"If I do that, I'm going to get endless shit."

He shrugs. "Deal with it, man. Don't be a fucking pussy and just tell him how you feel."

I narrow my eyes. "Since when are you Dr. Phil?"

Damien glares, his red eyes are almost like daggers.

"Look, I'm trying to help, so why don't you keep your snarky remarks to yourself?" he snaps. I raise my hands defensively.

"Fine, fine. Just don't fry me, dude."

He makes his way to my bed, trying to push me over and failing. I chuckle and move myself over. Damien lies down next to me, his black hair billowing out on my pillow in random directions.

"If you like him, you should tell him." his eyes are full of sincerity when they look into mine.

"I don't know." I sigh, putting my hands behind my head. "What if he doesn't feel the same way?"

This whole conversation sounds like one at middle school girls' slumber parties.

Damien pauses for a moment, then starts laughing.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he says between peals of laughter. "He's crazy about you."

"How do you know?" I narrow my eyes.

"Who do you think broke the fucking mug?" he asks, smiling.

I roll my eyes again. "I got your text. Thank God I had a first aid kit."

"How bad was the injury?"  
"A cut on his hand. He got little pieces of coffee cup in it, and it was bleeding pretty badly."

Damien sighs. "Damn it. I didn't mean it to be that bad."

"You better not have." I growl. "Don't fucking try it again. If you hurt him, I swear..."

"Dude, calm down." Damien says. "I'm not going to do that this time."

"This time?" I ask. He better not pull anything.

"If you're not going to do anything about Tweek, then I will." he says simply.

"Are you threatening me to tell him I like him?" I raise an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yes and no." he answers. "I'm going to get you two together, no matter what you say."

Damien, play cupid? What the actual fuck?

"Why are you suddenly so into this?" I give him a what-the-fuck look.

"No reason." he grins, as if he knows something I don't. "Now, let me try something."

Automatically, I back away from him. "No."

Damien laughs. "Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you."

I shudder, but relax. Damien's eyes are really creeping me out. They're a bright shade of fire engine fucking red, lighter than usual. They've developed a glint of something that I can't place. I can feel the heat radiating off from his body. Usually it's too hot, too overwhelming. But not now. Now it's inviting, like a warm fire after a day out in the cold.

Soon, I can feel his hand holding mine. Instantly, my whole body warms up, but I can't help but shiver.

In looking down at our entwined hands, I haven't realized that Damien has moved closer to me.

"What the fuck are you doing." I say quietly, the words coming out more like a statement than a question.

"I'm testing you." he murmurs as he inches even closer, so that our foreheads touch. I can't help but look at his skin, and how pale it is. It's probably the whitest skin can get naturally, without becoming a zombie or something. Subconsciously, I touch it lightly with one finger. It's soft and perfect, but it feels wrong. It's like it's on the wrong person.

I can feel his breath on my face. It's not necessarily a bad feeling, but not a good one, either.

So when his mouth touches mine, I know something's up.

Okay, I'm gay. I like boys. I'm a homosexual.

So why isn't this appealing to me?

Damien's wrapping his arms around me, pulling me in closer. I close my eyes, trying to think. Something's up here. Something's wrong.

His warm hands are stroking my cheeks. The knot in the pit of my stomach is growing tighter.

Of course.

I get it now.

As soon as it comes to me, I pull away.

Damien grins. "You passed the test. Congratulations."

I grin right back. Damien's clever, but that was probably one of the weirdest—and most brilliant—things he had done. "Yep. I'll admit, it took me a while, though."

Damieh shrugs. "It was the only way for me to test your loyalty. Would you mind telling me what you were thinking?"

I sigh, but comply. "I was thinking about why this didn't feel right. I'm gay, so why didn't it feel good? Then I realized why. It's because you're...you."

Damien frowns.

I correct myself. "Well, I mean, you're not...him."

He nods. "There you go. You know what that means, right?"

I give him a look, telling him to go on.

"If you can't resist me, that's saying something about your feelings for Tweek."

Ah, there it is. That Damien cockiness I always knew.

I stick my tongue out at him.

"Great, great. Tweek's a keeper, I know. Now get the fuck out of my room, I'm tired." I shoo him away. He sticks out his tongue, too. It's forked. He wiggles it around before fading away with a flash of light.

Damn, sometimes I want to punch that guy in the face. Other times, I think I should give him a Nobel prize or something.

**DON'T KILL ME FOR PUTTING THAT KISS IN THERE! **  
**Craig does NOT like Damien. Just a reassuring note for you hardcore Creek people. **

**Le Pun of the Chapter**

**There was a sign on the lawn at a drug re-hab center that said 'Keep off the Grass'**

**Okay, I'll admit, I got that one from a website. The others, though, are from my brain :D**

**Tomorrow, I have to write an essay for school, so I probably won't be able to update. However, my friend (the same one as in the top AN) might come over, and, if there are any K2 fans out there, I'll probably be writing a cute little K2 thing for him. So yeah, that might happen. :D**


	9. Chapter 9 - Boob Diseases

**Sorry for the long wait! I had Passover yesterday, and we got back at midnight. And there was school the next day. No, I'm not Jewish, but we go every year to my parents' friends' house. I go prety much for two things: The matzo ball soup and the cake.**

Anyway, enjoy this extremely fluffish chapter, in TWEEK's point of view! Yay!

My shaking hands clutch my thermos closer to my body as the chilly air surrounds me. I pull my scarf up over my face after taking a generous gulp of my drug, recognizing the feeling of calm that washes over me immediately afterward. It's comforting, considering the circumstances.

Those being, of course, that Craig has been staring at me from across the street for a solid minute now.

I'm trying my best to ignore him, but it's more of a challenge than I thought. I wonder if Craig knows that he's probably one of the most gorgeous people at our school. With his extreme height and defined facial features, he definitely stuck out from every other guy at school. Every time he walked down the hallway, girls nearby would swoon and bat their eyelashes.

But the guy doesn't even realize. He's so oblivious to his environment, that he doesn't have a clue that he's the most sought-after boy in school.

Which makes me regret the fact that I like him.

The whole reason that I hate dreaming about Craig is the fact that it'll never happen. With all the girls in school, he'd surely go after one of the pretty ones before me.

But maybe not, says my conscience. He's been being so nice to you. Maybe it means something.

Shut up, I tell it, even though I know it's got a point. The fact that Craig has been being so nice lately has sparked another confusion within me—why the hell wasn't he coming over to talk or whatever?

Damn, is this guy on his man-period or something? Can that ever happen? Oh, God.

I take another swig of my coffee, like I do whenever I have a mini-nervous breakdown.

Stop thinking about it, Tweek, I tell myself. He's probably just...shy. Or maybe he doesn't feel like talking. Or maybe it isn't even Craig. Maybe it's an impostor who snuck into his bedroom last night, stole his clothes, and...

Another sip of coffee. Shit, I'm going to have to get another cup if I'm going to make it through the rest of the day. Which means I'm going to have to go to Harbucks, which is conveniently located right behind you-know-who.

I take a deep breath, get up off the bench I've been sitting on, and head for the crosswalk, watching carefully for cars, even though the town is pretty much dead today. Hey, you never know.

I can feel his eyes following me as I get closer.

I reach his side of the street.

Why am I shaking this much? It's just Craig.

Perfect, gorgeous, mysterious Craig...

No, snap out of it. Just give him a quick hello and get the fuck to your coffee.

When I reach the building that Craig has been leaning on, I give him a smile and a quiet "hi" before passing. There, that should be enough, right?

Before I can get far, a warm object makes its way onto my shoulder.

I squeeze my eyes shut. It's probably a huge spider. I can feel the long limbs brushing along my jacket.

Obviously, I'm screaming, twitching, trying to get it off, but it's not moving. Oh, God.

I turn around, desperate. What I see surprises me.

It's not a spider, or any creepy animal, for that matter. It's Craig's face, abnormally close to mine. He looks amused, his eyes shining and his mouth curled into an almost-smile.

"Calm down, Tweek. It's just me."

I nod. What a stupid thing to do.

"You going to get more coffee?" he asks, eying my thermos. I nod again. For some reason, my mouth doesn't seem like it's connected to my brain.

"Cool." he says, withdrawing his hand from my shoulder. I twitch. In all honesty, once I knew it wasn't a monster, I wanted it to stay there. "Can I buy you a cup?"

Finally, my mouth forms the word. "S-Sure. Thanks, C-Craig."

He pushes the Harbucks door open. Inside are two hipsters dressed in what look like rugs, a young woman typing on her laptop, and a couple holding hands in the corner.

The clerk looks over at us, her eyes automatically brightening when she sees Craig. I feel my heart sink, just a little, like it always does when girls look at him that way.

"What can I get ya today?" the girl asks, raising one eyebrow and leaning over, exposing her already prominent cleavage. I look down at my feet.

Craig's response is curt. "A black coffee and an apple coffee, with extra caramel, or whatever the fuck you call it." he says.

I stifle a giggle. Craig really doesn't know his coffee.

"Do you want anything else? My number, perhaps?"

I look up at the girl. Her eyes are hopeful.

"No." is all Craig says. He slams a ten-dollar bill on the counter, flips her off, and sits down at a nearby table. I follow.

"Th-That girl w-was r-really trying to pick you up there, C-Craig." I say nonchalantly.

He nods and cringes at the thought.

"I'm afraid." he says.

"Of what?"

"That her tits might make their way out of her shirt and into our coffee." he says, shuddering. Oh, no.

"What if she in-infects us with s-some sort of b-boob disease? I DON'T WANT TO DIE, C-CRAIG!" I say loudly, tugging at my hair by force of habit.

The hipsters shoot bored glances my way. By being Harbucks regulars, they're used to my insanity.

Craig doesn't show any sort of anger because of my outburst. He simply leans over and grabs my hand from my hair, holding it firmly in his.

"What did I tell you about pulling your hair?" he says softly, giving me a gentle glare. Good. He didn't turn his eyes on full-power for that glare.

I then realize. Craig is holding my hand.

In...public?

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. Okay, don't freak out. This moment is perfect—don't spoil it. Ah, look! Now his thumb is making little circles on the front of your hand, how great. His long fingers are tightening themselves into the spaces between my own. How...thoughtful.

My attempts fail.

"C-Craig. D-Do you know what—ngh!—this looks like?" I blurt out.

He looks surprised for a minute, but it changes to a look of something that looks a lot like determination.

"Yeah, I know." he says, looking at our entwined hands.

"D-Do you care?" I ask, almost inaudibly.

"No." is his response.

Does that mean what I think it means?

Before I can answer myself, I hear a cheery voice telling us that our drinks are ready.

"Here you go, guys!" she says. Then, she sees our hands.

"O-Oh. Well, um...enjoy the coffee...?" she says, her voice raising in pitch at the end of her sentence to make it sound like a question.

Craig stares at her, almost smugly. "Oh, we will." he murmurs as she scurries off to help another customer.

I can't help but let the thought run through my mind.

Bitch, you better run.

Craig sips his coffee, then nods, satisfied. "Perfect."

I sip mine, too, forgetting about the boob-disease theory I had before. That happens often—I panic about things, then forget about them.

"How is yours?" he asks.

"Good." I say. "How did you know that this one w-was my favorite?"

"I remembered when you offered me some coffee when we ate lunch together. It tasted like...apples and caramel."

He trails off on those last three words, obviously in thought. His fingers are moving slightly against my hand, brushing the skin lightly, making it prickle in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant. In fact, quite the contrary. It feels amazing.

When we finish our drinks, I shoot the clerk girl one last glare while Craig isn't looking before shutting the door behind me.

He leans against the building, facing me. His face is amused, like it was when I first saw him. Soon, his mouth contorts into a smirk. I try to keep my heart from lurching. He looks so sexy with that smirk on. No one could deny that.

"You were really staring down that coffee lady back there." he says, chuckling. I immediately feel the heat rush to my cheeks.

Shit.

He saw me.

"I-I wasn't—nagh!—staring!" I cry.

"Aww. Is someone a little jealous, hmm?" he asks jokingly, nudging me.

"N-No!" I say weakly. He grins widely, more than I've ever seen him.

"So, if I gave her my number, what would you do?" he asks.

"I-I wouldn't care!" I retort, my eyes darting back and forth.

"Oh?" he says, raising his eyebrows mockingly.

"Yeah!" I say.

We leave it at that for a moment, walking to nowhere in particular. Just...walking. Finally, he speaks.

"You're a bad liar." Craig whispers in my ear.

"I'M NOT JEALOUS, ASSHOLE!" I say. Craig is laughing, running off down the street. I chase after him, but it's no use. His long legs move him too fast.

"F-Fuck, y-you." I say, panting and letting him go. He slows down and comes back to me.

"Aww. Here, I'll go easy on you. Try to catch me."

He runs at a painfully slow rate, and I catch up with him easily. As soon as I do, he speeds up. I've got him, though. When I can, I grab onto his shoulders—having to jump up to do so—and attach myself to his back, making him piggyback me.

"Damn, Tweek. You're as heavy as a piece of paper." he mutters jokingly as he grabs ahold of my legs and walks down the street normally, as if humans did this every day. I let out a cheer of victory, happy that I don't have to walk.

Soon, he sets me down on a park bench nearby, and sits beside me.

The coffee has begun to take its toll on me, and I can feel the warmth in my stomach coaxing my mind into a sleepy state. Instinctively, I move to the only heat source there is—Craig.

He stiffens at first at the contact, but then relaxes, wrapping an arm around my shoulders tightly.

"That was fun." he says. His chest rumbles when he speaks.

I like it.

"Mmm." I make a small noise of approval, already melting into him. It's as if we fit perfectly together.

"You tired?" he asks, looking down at me. His eyes are warm and bright. I look back up at him with lidded eyes and nod.

"You jealous?" he asks again, almost casually. In my sleepy state, I just nod again.

Craig stiffens again. I open my eyes fully and look over at him. His face is lost in thought again. God, I wish I could know what he was daydreaming about now...or who.

Then, he smiles again.

"I knew it! You were jealooouuusss!" he teases in a singsong voice.

I pout, crossing my arms.

"Aww, don't feel bad." he says, laughing quietly and putting an arm on my shoulder, pulling me into him again.

"A-At least I put up a fight." I say weakly.

"Mhmm." he agrees, resting his chin on the top of my head. "You smell good."

My eyes widen at the sudden statement. "Wh-What do I s-smell like?"

"Coffee and apples and caramel."

"B-Because of the Harbucks." I tell him.

I can feel his head shake. "Nah." he says. "You always smell like that. I like it."

"Oh. W-Well, I'm glad I-I guess." I hesitate.

"Yeah, and-and, you know what? Fuck this." Craig says, standing up. My heart lurches again. Did I say something?

Before I can find anything in our previous conversation that may have sparked a disagreement of some sort, Craig speaks again.

"Fuck it. I'm just gonna—I like you, Tweek." he says quickly, so much so that I almost don't catch it.

Craig Tucker, the tall, dark, handsome Craig Tucker, likes me?

Me, the twitchy, thin, coffee-addicted creep?

Nah, couldn't be happening.

I wait. I wait for my brain to tell me the punchline, to tell me that this isn't real, that this is just a dream.

But it never comes.

I stand up and walk up to him. He's concentrating at the ground.

This isn't real. None of it is. It's all a dream, or a setup by the government, or my mind finally reaching its capacity and overflowing with crazy, extremely realistic delusions.

So it doesn't matter when I get on my tiptoes, put my hands on his shoulders, and kiss him.

**Cliffhanger :D**

**I'm so evil, hehehehe. What did you guys think of giving Tweek the whole chapter to himself? I liked it, personally. Tweek's not as funny as Craig, but he's pretty deep sometimes. I like writing deep stuff.**

**Anyway, pun time!**

**It's not that the man did not know how to juggle, he just didn't have the balls to do it.**

**Again, from a website. OH YEAH! I forgot. **

**Don't own South Park, it belongs to Trey and Matt. Also, I don't own any songs or anything that might be mentioned in the story. They belong to whoever wrote them.**

**All right, I said that, so please don't sue me! I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY EXCEPT FOR MY BIRTHDAY CHECK I GOT FROM MY GRANDMOTHER D:**

**Okay, until next chapter, please review, follow, and favorite! Love you guys 3**


	10. Chapter 10 - Opposites Attract?

**I. Am. So. Sorry.**

**This took so, so long to think up! It's a really, really short chapter, but I wanted to get something up here to let you know that I'm not dead. I apologize greatly if it sucks. DON'T HATE MEEEEEE :C**

What. The. Fuck.

I know I should be happy about this, given that I've finally admitted that I like the kid, but I'm not.

It makes me feel guilty, in a way. Why aren't I enjoying this? It's what I wanted—a nice, simple kiss from him. But now it seems like so much more than that.

Tweek senses that something isn't right, and he pulls away.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly, looking up at me, his eyes already swimming with emotions. He looks as if he's certain he did something wrong, even though I know he didn't.

"Nothing." I respond stoically. It's true. "Nothing at all."

"Th-then why—"

"I need to think about this for a second." I cut him off, closing my eyes, trying to calculate why this wasn't appealing to me. I got Tweek a coffee. Check. I told him I liked him. Check. We kissed. Check. None of it makes any sense.

"C-Craig, I—"

I feel bad for interrupting again, but, at the same time, I feel like I need to get my thoughts out, before anything else.

Yes, something is seriously wrong with me if getting my feelings out is the first thing on my mind.

"Tweek, I'm sorry, I-I have to go." I tell him, turning away.

"Where are you going?" he asks from behind me. I can hear his voice quivering.

Oh, no.

He's taking this as rejection. Even though I told him I liked him first. He thinks that I've changed my mind. That this isn't a match, or that it isn't right.

I don't blame him.

We aren't a match. Not at all. Tweek, in all of his over-emotional, coffee-addicted glory, and me, the apathetic, uncaring bastard in mine.

We're polar opposites.

As for what I presume is his other thought—that this isn't right—I can't agree with him fully. Sure, being gay is going to get me a few awkward moments with my friends and a few stares, but , when I'm ready, I'll take it on the way I take on all my problems—by not giving a shit. The problem is, I'm nowhere near ready. It's not that I don't want people to know, it's just that I'm not positive if I really am gay. Looking at pictures of naked girls with Kenny in 6th grade never really gave me a boner, like all the other guys. But who knows? Maybe, after admitting I'm gay, I'll start checking out chicks more, and then I'll be completely confused.

With every step I take away from him, I feel more and more heavy, as if someone is pushing my back down. I can practically hear my joints crack from the weight that has suddenly been put down on my body.

xXx

When I get home, I make myself a bowl of cereal and flick on the TV. I scroll through the channels lazily, finally settling on some random cartoon.

_Tweak's coffee awakens you by making you feel like the coffee beans have come to you. Its smooth texture is the perfect way to start you day and warms you like the sun on your skin in the early morning..._

I flip the channel.

"Aww. I love that show."

I'm not even surprised to hear Damien's voice. Instead, I groan. He seems a bit disappointed, though, as if he was eager to scare me.

"What do you want?" I say.

"To ask why the fuck you ran away from Tweek again." he replies.

"Can you mind your own business?"

"Nope." he says simply. "Now tell me."

"I ran away because it felt weird." I say. No need to describe "it." Damien was probably there to watch anyways.

"How?"

"Like, it didn't feel right. I like Tweek a lot, but we weren't..." I trail off, trying to find the words.

"You felt awkward, didn't you?" Damien laughs. "You, a six-foot-something guy, got kissed by the twitchiest little peanut in the school."

I shove him over and give him a good glimpse of my middle finger, but then I sigh. He's got it right, I just realized. I like Tweek. I want to be with Tweek. I want to kiss Tweek. I don't want Tweek to kiss me.

"Shut up." I tell him. "I would've done it myself, but he...beat me to it."

"Sure." Damien rolls his eyes. "I will believe that when Dad kisses God's ass."

"Which will be...hmmm...tomorrow?" I snap back.

Damien glares daggers at me, but then bursts out laughing.

xXx

Today, I wake up motivated. I pull on some jeans, some band shirt, and, of course, my belt—metallic red studs, if you must know—grab my bag, and head out, knowing what I need to do.

I, Craig Tucker, have both an expert and extremely dumb-assed plan. It will let the whole school know that I am gay. It will tell Tweek that I really do, indeed, like him, It will show all the annoying girls that sometimes look at me to fuck the hell off. It will tell Tweek that I'm not going to let him do all the work.

So many perks, but I'm still having doubts.

The fear of confusion is still in my head. I'm still afraid of not being certain if I'm gay, but even then, this will probably solve it.

I am going to kiss Tweek. In front of everyone. At school. Right now.

When I get into school, the first thing I do is look for Tweek. He's at his locker. Perfect.

I look around at the crowd of people everywhere, feeling nausea starting to creep in around my stomach.

If I barf on Tweek, I'm going to kill myself.

My feet are moving closer and closer to him, and I feel my heart rate increase, beating frantically, trying to keep up with my brain, that is racing a mile a minute.

Tweek's getting his books. Tweek's turning around and shutting his locker. Tweek's about to walk away—

Before I can even evaluate my actions, my legs stop being awkwardly Jello-like and decide that now's the time. I feel myself lurch forward, grabbing Tweek's forearms and pushing my lips to his. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, and neither does Tweek. The only thing that is racing through my mind is _don't puke. Don't puke!_

As soon as the mouth under mine starts to move, though, all the nervousness disappears. He slowly begins to break from my tight grip on him, and I let him. Now, everything feels right. His hands that have now made their way onto my shoulders feel like they belong there.

It's all so fucking exhilarating, I might as well be in that dream I always have.

Soon he breaks away, looking up at me with warm coffee-colored eyes.

"Sorry." is all I say.

"You better be." is all he says back.

Then we realize that everyone is looking at us.

Of course, I know that everyone would be staring, but this is, quite literally, everyone. I can't even recognize all the faces, since they're all packed together like sardines.

The nausea returns and my head starts to spin faster and faster. The sheer amount of people, paired with the perfection of the moment before, is overwhelming.

Sure enough, I see a few stripes and hear a thump.

**Craig's been facing a lot of pressure lately...**

**If any of you have any ideas for what should happen next, tell me, because I honestly have no clue what I'm going to do with this story. That sounds really, really bad, and it is, because I didn't plan this one out. For my other story I'm currently writing, You're Late, I have the whole plot in front of me and ready to write. I should've done that with this one, but ideas flow in and out of my mind easily, so meh.**

**Your Long-Awaited Pun!**

**My parents kept on making egg puns yesterday. I was like, "You've got to be yolking."**

**Hurf hurf.**

**I have good news, too!**

**I ordered a laptop today, and I'm picking it up at Best Buy tomorrow, so I'll be able to write without my mom telling me to stop hogging the computer! That means quicker updates for you guys :D**

**I know this chapter sucked, but please review and stuff anyway because I will love you if you do. :3**


End file.
